What Hermione Saw
by T-TrainOrTurkeyT
Summary: A Hermione and Draco fic adopted!. I'll start updating with chapter 4. Hermione sees Draco with Pansy one night after patrolling the corridors like a good prefect does. Follow along to see what happens next! Rated M for maturity, mild smut
1. What Hermione Saw

**What Hermione Saw**

Hermione came hurrying down the stairs from her dormitory into the Gryffindor common room, her fingers deftly pinning her prefect's badge to her robes. She scanned the room, frowning. It was filled with the usual after-dinner crowd of students, playing, studying, and--

In the case of one Ronald B. Weasley--

Snogging.

The frown on her face deepened to a scowl as she watched her friend--make that her _former_ friend--her former _best_ friend--wrap himself around that disgusting cow Lavender Brown. Honestly, the two of them were making a loud exhibition of themselves. It was quite obvious that Lavender had no shame, but to think that Ron--her Ron--could behave in this manner. Well!

Huffing, she marched boldly up to the pair of them, leaving a trail of silent onlookers in her wake. She tapped Ron on the shoulder. He ignored her, or--more likely--he hadn't even noticed as he seemed to be trying to shove his tongue down Lavender's throat, from which were issuing nauseating little high-pitched moans. Hermione noticed that her roommate had her hands under Ron's jumping, running them up and down his chest.

She tapped again. Sharply. This time Ron pulled away from Lavender with an audible _pop!_ and looked up in surprise. When he saw Hermione, he gaped. He looked like a carp, Hermione thought with satisfaction. A swollen-mouthed, red-faced, stupid, gawping carp.

"It's time, Ronald!" she said sternly. There was a slight titter from behind them, as the entire common room seemed to be eavesdropping shamelessly.

"Er. Time?" Ronald continued his fish imitation. Lavender giggled and cooed in his ear, her hands still playing under his jumper.

"Yes. For rounds, Ronald. Prefect duties? You do remember you're a prefect, don't you?" _Or have all your brains deserted your head to go take up residence elsewhere._ Her lip curled.

He shifted uncomfortably, saying, "Oh, right. Right! Yeah, um..." He looked at Lavender apologetically. In turn, she gave Ron what she no doubt thought of as an appealing pout. She looked more like a halibut in Hermione's opinion. Perhaps she and Ron were meant for each other after all.

Hermione huffed again (she was getting quite good at that) and glanced at her watch, before crossing her arms over her chest. Ron climbed to his feet, adjusting his rucked up jumper and, Hermione couldn't help but notice, his trousers. Ron gave another glance of apology at Lavender and said to her again, "Yeah, um..."

Lavender batted her eyelashes at him, clearly impressed with his witty banter, and purred, "I'll wait up for you Won-Won. Don't forget about me."

Ron grinning sheepishly, caught Hermione's eye, frowned, blushed, and then stammered, "Right, um, Hermione. I'll-- should I get my prefect's badge d'you think?"

"No, Ronald. We're late as it is. I'll vouch for you in the unlikely event someone doubts your qualifications."

"Oh. Alright. Thanks, Hermione." Apparently, among his many other sterling qualities, Ron was immune to sarcasm.

With brisk strides Hermione led the way out, and the two of them climbed out through the portrait hole. Evening rounds generally took only about half an hour, with Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh year prefects trading off nights so that each year did them once every three days. Tonight it was the Sixth Years' turn. They would be patrolling the entire fourth floor, and half of the third. Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw prefects would be covering the other corridors.

They walked their usual route in pointed silence. At least, it was pointed on Hermione's side; Ron was so often speechless that it was hard to tell with him. Probably he was mooning over Lav-Lav and dwelling on all the sordid and perverse things they would do to each other to make up for this enforced absence from each others lips.

_Ugh,_ thought Hermione. To think I used to fancy this git. Because there had been a time, and not too distant a time, when he'd been the focus of her thoughts and... if she owned up to it, her fantasies. She couldn't count the number of times she'd put herself to sleep at night imagining... well, all sorts of things about Ron. Things she did to him. Things she let him do to her.

His freckles had always played an important role. She used to imagine tracing lines between them with her tongue, following a path down his chest to his hard muscles of his stomach, while he groaned her name and tangled his fingers in her hair. And with encouragement like that, of course she'd move even lower, unfastening his trousers--

There was a scuffling noise ahead of them. From the vicinity of a broom closet. She and Ron stopped. Looked at each other. As was usual in these situations, Ron appeared highly reluctant to do his duty, so Hermione raised a eyebrow and then looked pointedly from Ron to the broom closet.

"Your turn, Ron. You know I've done the last two."

Ron sighed, squared his shoulders, and walked over to the closet door.

He cleared his throat. Loudly. Shuffled his feet. Rattled the doorknob a few times.

Then he said, "All right, you lot. Come out as soon as you're decent. I don't want an eyeful."

Out of the closet came two Ravenclaws whose names Hermione didn't know. Two male Ravenclaws. The disheveled state of their clothes and hair left no question as to what they'd been doing in there. As their attentions were firmly fixed on Ron, Hermione was able to eye them at her leisure without being noticed.

The both sported very... enticing bulges in their trousers. Very large enticing bulges. She grinned. Somehow the idea of two more sexually thwarted students in this school filled her with the tiniest bit of satisfaction. Unfair, perhaps, taking out her own frustrations on others. But at least she was honest.

When Ron had sent the two of them on their way, Ron blushing and stammering through the standard lecture, far more embarrassed than either of the two other boys, the two of them continued their patrol. They left the fourth floor and headed down to cover their half of the third floor corridor. They were late, and it was already ten minutes past their usual stopping time when they reached their turnaround point.

Just as Hermione was glancing again at her watch, composing a sarcastic comment on the time, and how she hoped dear Lav-Lav wouldn't be angry, they heard another noise. This time it was more of a _mewing_ sound, but after six months of prowling supposedly deserted Hogwarts after hours, she was familiar--intimately familiar, you might say--with all the possible sounds that enthusiastic couples could make.

Ron groaned. Hermione sighed in exasperation.

"Alright, Ron. You go on back to dear Lav-Lav. All sort these two out."

Ron gave her a grateful look and a quick, "Thanks," and loped back down the corridor without a backwards glance.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

She crept quietly closer to the door from which the sound had issued. It was the Arithmancy classroom, still in darkness of course, but the door was slightly ajar. Hermione moved closer. Unlike Ron, she didn't generally give her wrong-doers advance warning. She always felt that the element of surprise gave her an advantage, discipline-wise, not having the natural authority that came with Ron's height and build.

She reached the doorway and peeked in. An almost full moon was shining through the tall windows, lighting the room in a pearly radiance. At first, she saw nothing. Then, she heard the noise again, that _mew_ that somehow spoke volumes about need and pleasure.

Her head turned towards the sound and there, in the back of the classroom, leaning against the wall, was

Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy, his head thrown back, his hair white in the moonlight, his narrow hips flexing as he pumped his dick--his long, wet, hard, red dick--straight into Pansy Parkinson's eager mouth.

So this was what the Sixth Year Slytherin prefects got up to after rounds.


	2. What Hermione Did Next

**What Hermione Did Next**

Hermione squeaked. Positively squeaked. She did! Even to her own ears she sounded like an overwrought mouse, but it couldn't be helped! No one could be blamed for squeaking in horror at the disgusting sight of Malfoy and his... his thing.

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth to keep any more sounds from emerging. She probably should have clapped the other hand over her eyes, but somehow that hand wasn't obeying orders anymore.

Malfoy--_oh, Merlin!_--Malfoy had looked up and was squinting in her direction. He couldn't see her, she was sure of that, she was shrouded, cloaked, covered in darkness, but even so, she stepped back just to be on the safe side. Luckily, her feet _were_ still obeying orders.

She wondered if he'd come out and have a look around, but no. No. Teenage boys apparently didn't have the sort of strength of character necessary to stop girls from sucking their cocks long enough to investigate mysterious noises. Malfoy had resumed demonstrating his weak character. Enthusiastically.

Very, _very_ enthusiastically.

From her position in the corridor, the angle wasn't quite as satisfactory--er, that is, as horrifying--and his organ was unfortunately--that is, thankfully--obscured from view by Pansy's bobbing head. But she could still see the rest of him, the way his hips were moving in that obscenely rhythmic way; she would still hear the mewing noises, which Hermione now realized were coming from his... partner.

That slag Parkinson was actually enjoying it. Or doing a convincing job of pretending.

Hermione shivered. Shuddered, that is.

Really, this should be stopped. It was her duty as a prefect. Only somehow, she couldn't bring herself to do the Ron thing: Cough, rattle a doorknob, call them "you lot". And she certainly couldn't do the Hermione thing: Walk right in, give them a bossy lecture, send them packing. Not with his dick jutting up from his unfastened trousers for anyone to see.

The idea of Malfoy knowing that she'd seen... that. God. Might as well kill her right now.

There was only one thing to do. _Leave._

Turn around. Walk away down the corridor. Maybe corner Parkinson in the girls' toilet tomorrow and let her know that prefects were expected not to... _loiter_ in corridors after patrol. Let her know that it was _not on_.

That's what she ought to do. Right now. And yet somehow her feet weren't moving. She was still in the same spot. Rooted. Riveted. Transfixed. And her eyes were still uncovered, so that she was forced to watch as Malfoy grabbed Pansy's head in both hands and pulled her closer, ramming deeper into her mouth, body arching, face contorting, hips jerking in spasms as he forced her to swallow him down.

With a start, Hermione realized that he was... that he'd... well, that he was done. In a moment, they might come out and discover her, rooted, riveted, transfixed.

Hermione turned and positively scampered down the corridor. Her cheeks were hot; she was sure to be bright red. Stopping half a corridor away from the Fat Lady's portrait, she attempted to compose herself. Her heart was beating hard, she was panting, sweating even. All from the run, no doubt. Not from--  
_  
Well._

She didn't feel very well, really. Not well at all. There was a weird fluttering sensation low in her stomach. She felt feverish, in fact. Possibly she was coming down with something. She really ought to... Yes, she should go to bed. It was early, but not all that early. A good rest would set her right.

She swallowed. And imagined Parkinson doing the same thing. Swallowing. _Oh... Merlin's pants! Get that image out of my head, _Hermione commanded her brain.

But, unsurprisingly, her brain had decided to declare independence as well.

She took a deep breath and, whispering the password tersely to the Fat Lady, stepped through into the common room. Thankfully, it wasn't as crowded as it had been earlier, and no one stopped her as she threaded her way quickly through the chairs and sofas, making for the girls stairway.

When she reached her room, she was glad to see that no one else was there yet. And why should they be? It was only 9:30, far too early to go to bed, unless one was feeling under the weather.

Hermione pulled off her robes, her clothes, everything. She debated putting on her dressing gown and taking a shower, but in the end reached into her drawer, grabbed the nearest nightgown, and slipped it over her head. Those butterflies--or whatever they might be--were still making a pest of themselves in her tummy.

She must have eaten something that didn't agree with her. Or saw something.

An early night was just what she needed. Then she'd be fresh and rested for her classes tomorrow. She did a quick tooth-brushing charm (mentally apologizing to her parents, because no matter what she said, they didn't believe it could be as effective as the Muggle way) and then climbed into bed.

Pulled the curtains.

Lay there. In the dark.

For a long time.

She shifted first to her left side and then to her right. This wasn't working. She turned onto her stomach, burying her face in her pillow. Pictures of Draco Malfoy kept coming into her mind. Not pictures of him sneering, or strutting around with his goon friends, or sucking up to Professor Snape.

No, only one picture. One highly detailed, technicolor, _moving_ picture.

She heaved a heavy sigh. She needed to relax. That whole incident with Malfoy had... upset her. That was it. It wasn't every day that a girl came across something so lurid. So entirely unexpected. Although--come to think of it--there was no reason it should be unexpected. Parkinson seemed to drape herself over Malfoy whenever she had the chance. Much like Lavender did with Ron, in fact. Had Lavender ever--?

_No. Don't even go there._

When had everyone in her year got so... drapey? Had they no pride? There was a time for these things, and 9:30 on a weeknight was _not it_! And a place! And... the Gryffindor common room, and... and... the Arithmancy classroom, were _not those places_. The more she thought about it, the more worked up Hermione got. The more incensed.

She reminded herself again that she needed to relax. Stewing over it like this wasn't the answer. It would simply mean lost sleep, and of course then she wouldn't be able to pay attention in class, would she?

And that might damage her academic career. Which couldn't be permitted to occur. There was only one thing to do. One fail-safe way to get herself in the proper state for a good night's sleep.

Her hands slipped under the hem of her nightgown.

Arching her back, she lifted the gown until it was bunched under her armpits. Good thing she hadn't put on any knickers. One hand went to her breasts, pinching the already hard nipples; the other hand slid down between her legs to find her already wet slit.

Surprisingly wet, really.

Obviously, this was just what she needed. Good thing she'd thought of it.

Her hands obediently went about this familiar business, and Hermione was glad that they'd finally decided to toe the line again. When her finger brushed against her clit, against that hard little nub of nerves, she let out a loud gasp, quickly stifled.

_God. This really wasn't going to take long._

Now... who should she think about? Until recently, it had been Ron. Even since his growth spurt this past summer, she'd had no problem getting herself worked up by imagining his body. His lovely, long freckled body. Doing naughty things to her.

But since Lav-Lav, that hadn't been working very well. Somehow, Ron wasn't quite as sexy anymore. She hadn't even considered Harry, because, frankly, he simply wasn't... her type. Recently she'd started falling back on the two old stalwarts from her younger teen years.

Her first, not in real life, of course, but in imagination had been... well, it was embarrassing to admit, really, but... Professor Lupin. Even since the beginning of third year, when she'd first got herself off thinking about him, he'd been a favorite. Somehow that hoarse voice, and those long fingers, and his reassuring manner had combined to do something to her.

And then, after she'd worked out that he was a werewolf. _God._ The kinds of fantasies her brain had worked up about _that_. Not to mention seeing him come out of the shower at Grimmauld Place last summer with nothing but a threadbare towel wrapped around his waist... let's just say, it hadn't left much to the imagination.

Not that she'd ever thought of other professors that way, because... well, it was a bit icky, wasn't it? Except Professor Snape, of course, and it had only been those few times. After he'd been particularly... stern with her. Something about that deep voice, dripping with scorn, seemed to settle and vibrate right between her legs.

But then the next year had been Victor Krum. And of course, it had helped that they'd actually touched each other. More than touched. He'd kissed her that night. The first boy to do so. And he was so strong, so much older and more knowledgeable. His hands had roamed over her, squeezing her breasts, pulling her hips against his hardness. He'd pushed his tongue into her mouth and set her blood on fire. Just remembering the evening of the Yule Ball could practically make her come.

She liked to branch out a bit with Victor. Imagine what things would have been like if he'd stayed after Fourth Year, or if she'd visited him as he'd asked. She pictured him walking with her in some evergreen forest, summer sunlight breaking through the pines, needles soft under their feet. He'd lay her down beneath the trees and take her virginity, his thick prick thrusting into her as he groaned with his own pleasure and muttered filthy things to her in Bulgarian. And as she climaxed, she always heard him calling her name, _Hermy-own-ninny_.

Hermione sighed and tried whispering it. "Hermy-own-ninny."

Yes, Victor might do. He might do to get the image of that contorted face, those pumping hips, that rigid phallus sliding between swollen red lips out of her mind. Or perhaps it was safer to fall back on sweet but dangerous Professor Lupin? Or sneering Professor Snape? Or even that freckled traitor, Ron?

Hermione ran shaking fingers over her own slick, wet heat, swirling and dipping around her clit, trying to call up the most amazing non-Malfoy fantasy she could think of.


	3. What Hermione Imagined

**What Hermione Imagined**

_Who to pick?_ Hermione mused, fingers running idly over her slippery sex. Her hips were already lifting up in quivering little thrusts, and if she didn't decide soon, she'd come with that horrid Malfoy on her mind, and what a waste of a good wank that would be.

Hm... Maybe the choice should depend on what she really felt like doing to herself. Imagining Ron, she always played with her breasts, squeezing and pinching at the nipples so roughly that it almost hurt. In her mind, Ron was a breast man. Considering Lavender's endowments, she'd predicted that one spot on.

One of those rare instances in her life when being right had offered scant satisfaction.

She lifted an experimental hand to her breasts and tweaked a taut peak, hard. _God, yes. That was so good. _The sensation seemed to travel straight down to her wet pussy. She tweaked a few more times and an image swam into her head of Ron's head dipping down to nip at her breasts with his teeth. His white-blond hair flopped over his forehead--

Wait. _Red hair._ His _red _hair flopped over his forehead.

"Oh, bother," she muttered, moving her hands down from her breasts. "This isn't working."

Maybe Victor would be better.

She'd fantasized about Victor's cock more times than she could count. It was the first one she'd ever actually felt. Alright, to be perfectly honest, it the _only_ one she'd ever actually felt, and only through trousers. Victor had pushed it up against her that time after the Yule Ball. They'd quickly gone from kissing to snogging, and then he'd started that hand-roaming business: his big, square hands moving all over her body, finding places she hadn't realized wanted touching, until she was ready to melt into a puddle at his feet.

Somehow, she'd found herself against the rough wall in the castle garden with his strong athlete's body pressed hot against hers, his hard erection pressed between her legs and exactly where she needed it. _Merlin, that had been heaven._ If Professor Snape hadn't broken things up at a particularly inconvenient moment, she'd have collected a lot more material for future fantasies that night.

When she touched herself with imaginary Victor, she always put three fingers deep in her pussy. She assumed he was big down there, or thick anyway, which was supposed to be better. At least, that's what Parvati said that Padma said that had Susan told her. He was so powerful and broad in his body, and didn't they always say...?

So, yeah. Victor. Thick, hard dick. Shagging her. Now.

They're in that forest, somewhere in eastern Europe. That should work. The fir trees are towering over them, and there's moss on the ground, Not the slimy kind, of course, but the pleasant, springy stuff. And he says, "Hermy-own-ninny, I haf vaited for this moment zo long. I must haf you." And of course she's ready and willing.

Or 'villing'.

Whatever.

He has her on the ground, on the springy turf or whatnot, and their clothes are off--who cares how that happened--and he's between her legs. His prick, _ah, God, yes. So good, so fucking thick,_ he's pushing it into her, he's moving slowly at first, so agonizingly slowly. Her hips start moving up to meet him, she writhes against him shamelessly and begs him to take her, to move harder. Faster.

He says, "I vill, Hermy-own-ninny, I vill. Oh, yes, zo luffly," and he's speeding up, it's just right as she runs her hands over his slim, muscled abdomen, down to his beautifully tapered hips and--

Wait. Not slim. Not tapered. Victor is wide, barrel-chested, not--

"Oh, bother," Hermione muttered again, this time through gritted teeth. She yanked three sopping fingers from her pussy in frustration. Took a few deep, cleansing breaths.

The problem was that she was feeling upset. The sight she'd witnessed tonight had been... well, she was perturbed in spirit about it. It had been a shock, that's what, and she needed comforting, not just distracting. Although the distraction part was important too, of course. It would have to be Lupin then: good, kind Professor Lupin. She always felt better after he'd eaten her out and then fucked her to incoherence with his amazing werewolf cock.

Snape was no good. Not even an option at this point. He might condescend to finger her if she begged him, but all the while he'd be making snide comments and threatening to deduct House points if he caught her ogling any more Slytherins. He might even spank her. She just wasn't in the mood for Snape.

So, Professor Lupin it was. Her last, best hope. She really ought to call him Remus, after all the things she's imagined him doing to her, but it doesn't seem right, somehow. Disrespectful.

Hermione closed her eyes, slid her hand back down between her legs, and transported herself to Grimmauld Place.

She's climbing the stairs for bed. It's late and everyone else is fast asleep in that gloomy old house. Or so she thinks. She's just been downstairs to make herself a soothing cup of cocoa, and she's holding the steaming mug in her hand as she reaches the second floor landing. At that moment, the door to the shower opens and out steps Professor Lupin.

But not the daylight Lupin. Oh no, far from it. Not the man who wears wool trousers and cardigans and... uh... tweed. No. This Lupin is wrapped only in a skimpy towel that hangs loosely from his thin hips--yes, Lupin's hips _are_ thin, so that's alright to imagine--and there's water from the shower still on his tightly muscled chest, glistening in the golden hair, running down in little rivulets to where the towel is knotted.

She looks at him and smiles a sort of... sophisticated smile. She eyes him quite brazenly, not embarrassed at all to have caught her former teacher practically naked on the landing. And although he's surprised to see her, he also looks quite... hm... taken. Yes, that's it, he looks taken, because she's wearing a rather sexy nightie.

The towel around his waist is so damp it's practically transparent, and it clings to his genitals, outlining them. She can see that his cock is quite long; it's sort of shifted off to the left and pressed against his thigh by the cloth. The bulge where his testicles hang down is quite apparent as well. He's exceptionally well endowed-- at least, that's what Ginny says that Bill says that Sirius says. She wonders if this might be one of those ways of recognizing a werewolf that they don't mention in the textbooks.

That kind of censorship really annoys her.

To make a long story short, she flirts with him, offers him some "cocoa" if he'll invite her into his room, which he does oh-so-willingly. And hi-jinks ensue. Sexual hi-jinks, that is. Her Lupin always likes to go down on her, licking and sucking and lapping at her clit until she's ready to scream. So tonight is no different, at first. He's making it his business from the beginning to find all her weak spots and exploit them to his advantage.

Soon, she feels her control slipping away. She's close, oh, so very close. Her cunt is throbbing under his skillful tongue. He has her panting for it, bucking up against his mouth. All at once, he breaks away and whispers into her ear--

"Suck me, Hermione."

And she's never done that before, with him, or any of the other boys. Men. Somehow it hasn't ever occurred to her that it might turn her on to do that. But gods, it is SO what she wants to do. She's dying to take him in her mouth. She's on her back, fingers working furiously at her soaking pussy as he straddles her chest and leans forward to feed his long phallus into her mouth.

Her nerves are on fire everywhere, she's never been so turned on. She's licking him, eating him, swallowing down as much of his hot, hard flesh as she can fit into her mouth. He pumps himself into her again and again, sliding between her lips, against her tongue, and practically into her throat.

She's close. So. Close. Almost there... and she can tell he is too, his hips are flexing and she can hear his harsh breath as he gasps, "Suck me harder. Ah, fuck. Fuck, yeah, Granger," and--

Wait... Professor Lupin had never called her Granger. _Granger?_ That sounded more like--

Before she could finish the thought, a sudden tidal wave of excitement flooded through her body.

_Fuck. OhgodohgodohgodohGOD!!_

She arched off the bed, grinding the heel of her hand against her clit. _Ohgod._ She bit her lip and moaned in ecstasy. And it just kept going, on and on and on: the most intense orgasm of her entire life. And it isn't nice Professor Lupin who was giving it to her, either. It was that sodding Malfoy, invading her fantasies as if he had a right to be there.

Afterward, Hermione lay in a dizzy muddle, still trembling and quaking from the aftershocks of that climax, that truly awe-inspiring climax. While part of her brain was blathering rather incoherently, something along the lines of, _ohyes-sogood-ohgod-sogood,_ another part was saying in clipped, precise tones, "Hermione Jane Granger, you just wanked over Draco sodding Malfoy. What. Were. You. Thinking?"

Hermione turned over and buried her head in her pillow. She groaned. But whether from pleasure or anguish, she would have been hard-pressed to say.


	4. What Hermione Said

**A/N: **Ok – yah, I know! It's been nearly a year since I last updated! I'm sorry and I know y'all probably don't want to hear it, but University sucks! It's my second year and things are getting harder… I just lost my grandmother this summer too. But enough of my complaining and excuses. Sincerely, thank you all for the wonderful reviews and all the alerts I received so far. I hope this will satisfy some of you!

* * *

The next morning shone bright and early. Poor Hermione had barely slept a wink all night. Her dreams had been plagued with images of Draco. Well, they were more like nightmares – after all, surely any dream about Draco Malfoy had to be considered a nightmare, shouldn't it? But the problem was, Hermione had still continued to have sexual fantasies portrayed in these dreams…nightmares of hers. Images of Draco sucking her, of her swallowing his meat, of Draco lying next to her completely naked, stroking her side, playing with her breasts, whispering quiet, soothing words and sweet nothings in her ear in the aftermath of their climax…

Hermione rushed to the bathroom. This shouldn't be happening to her! Furiously, she jumped into the shower and turned it on all the way, as cold as the shower would allow. She squealed as the ice cold water hit her burning warm flesh. While she stood there waiting for the cold shower to take its affect, Hermione started reciting potions ingredients to herself in her head.

Bloomslang skin, beetle eyes, mandrake root, flobberworms, eye of newt, pixie eggs…

Hermione stepped out of the shower and got dressed. In her haste to get down to breakfast, she didn't even wait for Ron and Harry as she usually did. By the time the other two had arrived at the table, she had already finished her breakfast – though don't ask what she ate because Hermione would have been hard pressed to say for sure. Everything tasted like saw dust today.

"Hermione? Hermione!"

Hermione jumped at the sound of her name being called. Turning to her two best friends she spoke.

"S-Sorry! I didn't sleep too well last night. What were you saying?" she asked.

"Hermione, are you ok? It's time for class. If we don't leave now, we'll be late," Ron replied.

"Yeah, sure, I'm ok, just a little tired I guess. Let's get to class then, before we're late."

As the trio got up to leave the Gryffindor table and head to class, Hermione noticed something – she, for the first time since coming to Hogwarts, had actually forgot her book bag in the common room.

"Harry, Ron, you guys go ahead to class. I'll be right there. I forgot my books back up in the tower." As Hermione turned to leave, heading up the staircase to Gryffindor tower, she didn't see the look shared between her two best friends.

Hermione paid no attention to where she was going, so lost in her thoughts as she was. When she finally took note of where she was, Hermione noticed that she was far away from her dorm and her next class too. In fact, she didn't recognize the corridor she was in at all. Hearing footsteps behind her, Hermione turned around… and saw nothing. Figuring it was just a trick of her imagination from being in a strange place, Hermione turned back around and kept walking only to stop abruptly at what she saw. There stood Draco Malfoy casually leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest, classic Malfoy smirk upon his lips and cold grey eyes upon her.

"Granger. What are you doing here?" he asked, "and without your cronies, too?"

"None of your business, Malfoy! What do you want?" Hermione retorted with out the usual conviction she would have used, had Harry and Ron been with her.

"Whoa there. Did the mudblood not take her chill pill this morning, or something?" sneered Draco.

"Don't say that!" Hermione said back, with just as much viciousness as Draco had used.

Smirk getting wider, if that was even possible, Draco smoothly replied, "Don't say what? That you're a mudblood or that you need to take a chill pill?"

Trying to keep her dignity in tact, Hermione gritted her teeth and answered, "You know very well what part I didn't want you saying."

Full out grinning now, Draco continued to egg her on. "Do I really know? After all, I'm already beginning to forget what it was that I had said in the first place. Care to remind me?"

"I'm a mudblood! That's what I don't want you saying, you vile thing!" Hermione yelled back at him. Of course, this was exactly what Draco wanted to hear!

"So good of you to finally admit it Granger. Now what in the world would make you believe that I, Draco Malfoy, are a 'vile thing' as you so kindly put it?"

"Because I love you!"

Quiet resounded throughout the corridor as a shocked Draco and Hermione stood there trying to comprehend what had just happened.

Realizing what she had just said, Hermione turned and bolted in the opposite direction, trying to put as much space as possible between herself and the object of her nightmares. Completely and totally embarrassed, Hermione somehow made it up to her room in Gryffindor tower and there she stayed for the rest of the morning.

* * *

**A/N:** Wow, so I finally updated. I know it's short but I don't intend to make this a very long story. Hope this floats your boats. I'm hoping to update another chapter to each of my in-progress stories. So it may be a while before this gets updated again. Thanks for reading.

**PS:** the part about Hermione hearing footsteps really was supposed to be a trick of her imagination. Strange things like that happen when one is lost and confused.


End file.
